


Paradise to Some

by glorifiedscapegoat



Series: Flowers For The Dead [2]
Category: No. 6 (Anime & Manga), No. 6 - All Media Types, No. 6 - Asano Atsuko
Genre: Nature God AU, childhood AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:21:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25470787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glorifiedscapegoat/pseuds/glorifiedscapegoat
Summary: Nezumi's first trip to the Surface doesn't go quite as planned.
Series: Flowers For The Dead [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1844839
Comments: 8
Kudos: 12





	Paradise to Some

**Author's Note:**

> I initially wrote this sometime after I'd written my piece for the 2019 No.6 zine. This is a sequel to _And Flowers Bloom Where He Walks_ , and it's part of something larger that I intend to do with this fic.
> 
> The next part probably won't be up for some time, but hopefully y'all enjoy this and the continuation of the lore that goes along with it.
> 
> Enjoy!

It was another hundred years before Nezumi would meet Shion again—and even then, _meet_ was too powerful a word. Neither had spoken to the other, but the memory of the encounter remained burned inside Nezumi’s eternal memory.

The encounter had occurred during a rare trip to the Surface: a court-summons for all gods, both Underworld and Surface-dwelling. Nezumi’s father had explained the meaning of the summons in a fit of rage once news of it came below, but Nezumi had been too busy moving as far out of the magic blast zone as possible to focus on the words and their meaning. His father’s hatred for the Surface gods was well-known, and being forced to spend any length of time in their presence sent him into a blind rage that no one could calm.

His mother was a far gentler in her explanation “Council meetings are held to assure that no gods are straying from their destined path. It’s a chance to voice concerns, warn of mortals that may become problematic, and introduce new gods that shall one day join the council.” She brushed her thin fingers along Nezumi’s cheek. “And since you’re of that age now, your father will be bringing you along with him.”

Nezumi disliked the idea of traveling to the Surface with his father, though he suspected he had little choice in the matter. The Underground gods already bore enough hatred from the Surface gods for simply being who they were—to snub their customs and refuse to introduce a new god might have been taken as a personal insult.

And even though Nezumi dreaded the thought of traveling to the Surface, he dreaded the retaliation of the Surface gods even more.

On the day of the council meeting, Nezumi found himself standing before his mother, arms stretched out like wings, as she pulled an elegant black tunic over his head.

His father loomed in the distance, snapping a silver belt around his hips. He wore all black, as he generally did: a simple expanse of fabric that bore his lower stomach, shoulders, and long white arms for all to see. He turned, and Nezumi was greeted with an image of his bare back—runic symbols traced a pattern across his shoulder blades and halfway down his spine, like the body and wings of some great black bird.

Finished with drawing the tunic down on Nezumi’s small frame, pinning it near the back to ensure that it wouldn’t fall off, his mother produced a silver comb and gently ran it through his long hair. Even as a child, Nezumi’s hair had always been impossibly long. Its color mirrored his father’s exactly, while his eyes had come directly from his mother.

“There,” his mother said after a moment, smiling with triumph. “You look adorable.”

His father yanked his own hair up into a tight braid. “Why bother dressing him up? He looks perfect the way he is.” He turned around and faced his wife and son with a stern expression, not a single slate-colored hair out of place. “We don’t need to fucking impress them.”

“Don’t curse,” Nezumi’s mother scolded gently. “And if we don’t _have to impress them_ , why are _you_ getting all gussied up?”

Nezumi’s father snorted.

His mother clucked her tongue in disapproval, but Nezumi said nothing. Even at a young age, he knew his father to be a vain creature. Mirror-gazing had become a hobby of sorts in more recent years—Nezumi could hardly count the number of times he would descend the stone steps of his small home underground, and the King of Nightmares would be kneeling in front of a pool of water, or standing in front of a small obsidian-rimmed mirror, smiling at his face.

The trip through the underground towards the Surface felt more like a march to an execution. Nezumi held his father’s hand, and together they trekked through the dry-dirt floors of the Underworld.

The Underworld held more darkness than the Surface world could have ever imagined, and yet Nezumi had no difficulty seeing. All around him, hardened dirt rose in a high dome, stretching up so tall that Nezumi had to crane his head all the way back and make his neck hurt just to look at it all.

His father’s strides were much longer than Nezumi’s; Nezumi tripped several times in a vain attempt to stay at his father’s side.

Underground trees—white stalks that stretched towards the sky like the arms of the dead—peppered the edges of the path. Nezumi glanced around at the variety of underground plants: the heaves of scarlet blossoms that resembled fat drops of blood, and the silver vines that crushed the life from any stone structure the Underground gods had tried to build around them. The plants of the Underground were beautiful in their own merit, Nezumi supposed, but none compared to the memory of the colors Shion had brought to life from just a simple touch.

The thought of the young godling brought strange emotions to the forefront of Nezumi’s mind. He had no idea _why_ he couldn’t shake the memory of Shion rushing up the hill, or forget about the beauty in the asters that grew around his feet. Or the anger that came when Shion had destroyed those flowers as quickly as he’d conjured them.

For the past hundred years, Nezumi had spent his time strictly underground, trying to lose himself in the vast nothingness of darkness. Many times throughout the night, when sleep evaded him and the memories were fresh, Nezumi would tiptoe past his sleeping parents and wander outside. There, he would listen to the sound of the dead wailing below, and wonder when, and _if_ , the memories of the boy he’d seen would fade.

When it had approached fifty years without the memories fading in the slightest, Nezumi considered going to his parents about it. The idea was quickly tossed away. His mother’s concern for his well-being would send her straight to his father—and _that_ was unacceptable. The Nightmare King could _never_ know that Nezumi had looked into the scrying pool without his permission.

Nezumi was so deep within his thoughts that he hardly noticed when his father came to a halt. Nezumi struck his head against something hard and metallic; he stumbled back with a grunt.

They had stopped before a large opening in one of the dirt walls, embedded on each side with smooth gray stones. Nezumi knew exactly what it was in an instant. He’d been forbidden to approach it without his parents’ strict permission, and they’d never handed it to him.

The King of Nightmares raised his hand to the gate and hummed. It started out low in his throat, the sound resonating like a thrumming beneath the earth. As the sound grew deeper and louder, each of the stones lit up, one by one, until the entire thing began glowing a brilliant gold.

Nezumi raised his head to ask where exactly they were going, but his father pressed his free hand to the small of Nezumi’s back and pushed him through.

They were deposited out of a stone archway at the end of an excessively large garden. Nezumi stumbled a few feet, his stomach churning, his mind flashing. He took a few steps and crumpled to his knees, drawing in deep, glorious breaths.

“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” his father snapped, running his hands gently over his hair to ensure that not a single one had fallen out of place.

Once he felt better, Nezumi lifted slowly his head and glanced around the garden.

It was unlike anything he had ever seen. Beautiful flowers peppered every inch of the room, split only by a cobblestone pathway that wound through it like a sleeping serpent. There were flowers Nezumi had no name for, and some he recognized from books—asters, bluebells, sunflowers, roses—and even a few plants that he knew even the mortals would never have known. Several orange petals unfurled from golden stalks to reveal glittering pink pearls in the center.

Nezumi was overwhelmed by the desire to look a bit longer, but his father hauled him to his feet. “Let’s go. The sooner we get there, the sooner we can leave this _place_.”

He spat the word out as if it were poison.

Nezumi’s father ushered him through the glowing garden. He hardly had any time to look at them. The Nightmare King’s feet were a moving flurry of motion, pushing him and his son towards the end of the cobblestone path like a star shooting through the sky.

And then Nezumi noticed it. The edges of his father’s cloak brushed against one of the flowers—a petite blue bud with an emerald stem. An edge of shadow lingered in the air for half a moment, too short a span for any mortal to have noticed. The shadow soaked through the frail leaf, enveloped it in wicked black, and then, very slowly, the blue flower withered to gray.

Nezumi turned his face away, pretending not to notice or mind. And yet, as he and his father continued to strut through the garden at breakneck speeds, he couldn’t help the thickness that built in his throat as more and more flowers wilted away to nothing.

It hardly came as a surprise. His father was the King of Nightmares, but he also possessed the power of rot and death. Plants and mortal beings would fall without a moment’s notice. The immortal gardens of the Surface were no different, though Nezumi imagined it was annoying for the Surface gods to continually need to revive plants that his father murdered every time he arrived for a simple council meeting.

They exited the gardens without a single look back. Nezumi tugged at the edge of his tunic, suddenly feeling very self-conscious.

The council building rose high above his head in a sweeping arc, patterned like the shell of a great bug. Its walls were smooth and colored in the same fashion. A large fountain spilling lavender water rose in the very center of the room, and the scent of jasmine filtered through on a gentle breeze. It was far grander than anything Nezumi had ever laid eyes on in the Surface world, and yet at the same time, the artificial nature of it all made his nose wrinkle. The council building was pretty enough, but the more he looked around, the more he found himself remembering the multi-colored blossoms Shion’s small hands had called from beneath the dirt.

The room was entirely empty, save for a man and a woman standing on the opposite edge of the fountain. Nezumi craned his head to look at them.

The only gods he had seen from the Surface were Shion and Safu, and even so they had not been much older than he was. The man and woman standing on the other end of the fountain were closer in age to Nezumi’s parents, and as such, were far taller and more powerful than Nezumi could imagine.

The woman was simple, by godly standards. Her hair fell in shimmering auburn waves around her shoulders, and there were thin lines around her eyes. She must have laughed a lot. She was deep in a conversation with the other god, whose hair was almost as black as the clothing Nezumi and his father wore. He had an odd air about him, something that made Nezumi want to turn and run away.

The Nightmare King came to an abrupt halt. “ _Fuck_.”

Nezumi didn’t know which of them his father was more disgusted about seeing, but when the dark-haired god turned his head and spotted him, Nezumi got his answer.

The god’s eyes blew open wide. “ _You’re_ here?”

The woman, cut off from their conversation, snapped her head towards them.

The Nightmare King took a step back, and Nezumi moved with him. For a startling moment, they ended up with Nezumi half-hidden behind his father’s leg.

Nezumi’s stomach tightened. It seemed unlikely that his father, who feared nothing, would shy away from _anyone_ , least of all two of the Surface gods he despised so much. And yet, as the god and goddess turned to gawk at him, Nezumi felt that any moment, he would be gathered into his father’s arms, and they would flee back to the safety of the Underground.

In an instant, the moment was over.

The Nightmare King straightened his spine. “Yoming, Karan,” he said, his voice as soft as the hair on a spider’s back. “What a... _nice_ surprise.”

The dark-haired god didn’t even pretend to be happy to see him. “You’ve got a lot of nerve coming up here,” he growled, his voice threatening and low.

Nezumi’s father leveled him with a superior glare, but before the conflict could escalate, the woman stepped in between him and Yoming.

“Izumi,” she said carefully. “I had… no idea you and Yoming had met before.”

“Karan—,” Yoming began.

The Nightmare King’s lips flattened into a bloodless smile. “Why, yes, Karan. We’ve met.” He shifted his gaze to her, and then back to Yoming, and then back to Karan. “Your husband, I presume?”

Karan’s eyes flashed dangerous. “No. He isn’t.”

Yoming's expression dropped.

“Oh, that’s right,” the Nightmare King said slowly, mulling over some memory deep in his mind. “I think I remember seeing your husband, not too long ago, actually.”

Karan’s mouth was drawn into a thin line, but Nezumi spotted the pain that darted behind her eyes. Though the remark must have stung worse than a slap to the face, she managed to keep her emotions restrained. It was admirable, Nezumi decided, as he’d been told time and time again that Surface gods worked little to try and contain their emotions.

Yoming didn’t conceal his anger in the same way Karan had. “You son of a—” He began to dart towards the Nightmare King, who in turn placed one hand protectively in front of Nezumi and raised the other in front of his face. Cold magic began dancing on his fingertips, and Nezumi knew that, if he were to even barely brush Yoming’s skin, it would rot clean off.

Karan must have known that would happen, too. She grasped Yoming’s forearm, squeezing tight enough for her knuckles to turn white. “Don’t,” she snapped. “Don’t fight!”

Nezumi didn’t know if the command was addressed simply at Yoming, or at both of them. Regardless, the Nightmare King kept his hand raised like a threat, permitting the magic to skitter around his fingertips.

“ _Izumi_ ,” Karan said, and her voice sounded somewhere between begging and warning. Nezumi felt a cold bolt shoot up his spine. For all her calmness, he had no doubt that Karan could—and _would_ —be a very horrible enemy.

A few breathless moments passed, and then Nezumi’s father curled his fingers inward. The magic dissipated, and though Yoming’s expression still seemed to be desiring a fight, his body had gone slack beneath Karan’s touch.

“For your information,” the Nightmare King spat, tight-lipped, “the only reason I’m here is because the Elder isn’t giving me a choice.”

“Please,” Yoming hissed. “That's horseshit, and you know it. No one wants you or your brat here.”

The Nightmare King’s face twisted into a frightening look, and Nezumi felt every nerve in his body stand on edge. He wanted to turn and run, hurry back through the garden, flee through the stone archway and bury himself in the safety of his mother’s arms. He could see her now—thin white arms outstretched, black hair piled on top of her head like a crown, silver eyes wide with love and comfort.

“Believe me,” he said, and began pulling Nezumi towards them, his steps long and calculated. “The feeling is _absolutely_ mutual.”

He shoved between them, making sure to strike Karan with his shoulder. It must have been a hard hit, because she stumbled backward with a grunt. Yoming darted forward to catch her elbow, and after a brief glance to make certain she was all right, glared after the two of them.

The trip to the council meeting room went by in silence. There were other gods lingering in the halls as Nezumi and his father approached. Unlike Karan and Yoming, however, these ones opted not to engage in any conversation.

It was different, Nezumi decided. Down beneath the Surface, the gods were simpler, dressing in dark shades, shying away from anything that shimmered with light. Traveling through the council room, Nezumi saw more colors than he had ever seen before—more so, he thought with dismay, than the flowers Shion had summoned.

They reached a smaller room, with a large circular table directly in the center. Around the table rose an array of chairs, highbacked and made of flawless white marble. Several were occupied by a few gods: a man with dark skin and plaited black hair, a beautiful woman with a low cut tunic who ran her eyes over the beautiful table and chairs, and in the very head of the table sat an elderly god with white hair and a stern face.

“Elder,” the Nightmare King purred, and Nezumi jumped at the tone of his father’s voice. “It’s been far too long.” He let go of Nezumi’s hand for only a moment to open his arms in a mock request for a hug. “How have you been?”

The elderly god glanced at the Nightmare King out of the corner of his eye. Nezumi surmised, from the way his red eyes went narrow and his fists tightened, that he appreciated his father’s company about as much as the other Surface gods seemed to.

“Izumi,” he said, his voice ancient and creaking. “It has been a while. I trust you are doing well.”

“About as well as one can Underground,” Nezumi’s father responded with a sickeningly sweet smile.

Nezumi expected the old man to wince, or at the least look guilty. Instead, he shifted his gaze back to the table stretched out before him. Some of the gods were eyeballing the Nightmare King with looks of distrust and terror. An older goddess shuffled her way inside the room, leaning on an elegant wooden cane. She took her seat without so much as a glance in their direction.

“Anyhow,” his father continued sociably, “let’s not bore each other with false pleasantries. You called me up here so you could meet my son, right? Well…”

He placed his hand on the small of Nezumi’s back and shoved him forward—Nezumi stumbled forward and righted himself just before he struck the old man’s marble chair.

“Elder,” his father announced, “this is my child.” He muttered Nezumi’s true name, concealing it in a whisper because it was special between the members of Nezumi’s family. He nudged Nezumi and said, “This is the Grand Elder of the Gods.”

Nezumi would have bobbed his head in a quick bow, or politely informed the old man that it was nice to meet him even though it would be a lie. As it was, he stood gawking at the lack of legs beneath the table. The old god’s pants were cut off at the ends, elegantly wrapped in clean bandages.

The Elder’s crimson eyes flickered down to him, calculating. Nezumi felt as if thin daggers bolted through him the longer he stood beneath the Elder’s gaze.

Thankfully, his father must have sensed his discomfort. He took Nezumi by the shoulder and guided him back behind the protection of his legs. “Well,” he said gently, “now you’ve met him. So that’s out of the way. I’ll see you at the next council meeting.”

He began to turn, guiding Nezumi with him, when the Elder cleared his throat.

The Nightmare King glanced over his shoulder. “You aren’t done with me?”

“This is a council _meeting_ ,” the Elder said firmly. “That means _all members_ must attend. I would have preferred Shirayuki be here, too—but I know how difficult it is for both of you to travel up here.”

“It would be easier,” the Nightmare King suggested slowly, “if you lowered the veil.”

The Elder’s eyes hardened. “You know why I can’t do that.”

“And _you_ know why I don’t want to be here.”

“Sit down, Izumi,” the Elder sighed. “This won’t take long.”

His father’s eyes darkened, and Nezumi thought for a moment he would reach out and choke the life from the old god’s frail body.

But whatever thoughts went through his head, they quickly dissipated. His father exhaled, frustrated, and turned to face Nezumi. “Just go... play in the gardens or something. I’ll come get you then this is over.” After a thoughtful moment, he added, “Stay out of trouble.”

Nezumi suspected that last part was said simply because the Grand Elder of the Gods was sitting less than two feet away from them.

“Yes, Father.” He turned and hurried out of the room without looking at any of the other gods. As he rounded the corner, he watched his father drop unceremoniously into one of the unoccupied chairs. He had a feeling that the ones immediately on either side of him would remain unoccupied for the remainder of the meeting.

He had only been in the council meeting hall for a short time, and finding his way back to the garden had been somewhat difficult. He thought he saw Yoming and Karan for a moment—but upon further inspection, he realized it was just another pair of older gods.

Nezumi said nothing to anyone as he passed. He suddenly appreciated his small size, as many of the gods and goddesses he passed were too tall to notice him as he slipped by. A few of them gave him odd looks, but there must have been bigger things on their minds, as none of them stopped to demand where he was going or why he was there.

Eventually, after a few confusing turns and an extended trip down a corridor that seemed to radiate with light from within, Nezumi found his way back to the gardens.

He drew in several deep breaths of fresh air, enjoying the taste. The air in the underground always smelled of muck and decay—Nezumi had grown accustomed to it, naturally, but the Surface air was such a change from the norm that, without even realizing it, he found himself dreading the return home.

He had no idea exactly how long the council meeting would last, and decided to make the most of his visit in the garden while he had the chance.

He strayed from the cobblestone path, wandering directly into the fields of green and rainbow colors. He ran his hands delicately over the blossoms, knowing that too much pressure would harm them. He had the overwhelming desire to gather a few handfuls of them and stuff them into his pockets, but both the stuffing and the unforgiving air of the underground realm would whittle them away into nothing.

Nezumi’s hands traveled over the flower tops as he walked, and he allowed his gaze to wander. The garden was encased in a glorious glass box, strips of gold running through it like the chains of an enclosed beast. It was only through the bars that Nezumi could see the unending blue sky. It was nothing at all like the skies in the underground realm. Here, everything was clear and vivid. Down below, it was either cold and dark, or dark and blistering.

Nezumi would never admit it out loud—could hardly admit it to himself—but if he had to decide how he felt in regards to the Surface world, he surmised that he felt... jealous.

Something rough beneath his hands startled him from his thoughts. He glanced down, surprised at the rather large expanse of black darkness that stretched out from where his fingertips ended and the heaps of flowers began.

He frowned, recognizing immediately where he was. His father’s rotten magic had spread out farther than just the few blossoms it had touched when they’d arrived. From the edge of the cobblestone path, a sea of wilted petals and lifeless gray stalks spread out at least two meters before stopping.

Nezumi gently cupped one of the dead blossoms in his hand and brought it to his face. The scent of decay struck him, and he was reminded of home.

He wanted to do something for it, but his affiliation resided with stealth and shadow. He couldn’t put life into the blossoms, no matter how sickened he felt by staring at them.

Just as he was about to set the blossom on the ground and turn around, not wanting to see it another moment, Nezumi heard it. The sound of feet scurrying along the stone path, heading right towards him.

Without thinking, he ducked into the shadows of one of the hedges. He didn’t want to be seen. Didn’t want to be blamed for what had happened to the garden. He was a young godling with absolutely no credibility. No one would believe him, even if he told the truth.

He peered out from behind the hedge, hoping that whoever had been running down the path hadn’t seen where he’d hidden.

Shion was already there, just a few yards away. He looked the same as he had one hundred years ago: auburn hair shimmering in the brilliant light, graceful even when standing still. He wore a brilliant lavender tunic, fitted perfectly to his small frame. His doe-brown eyes were wide, but, Nezumi noticed, not with excitement.

“Oh, no,” he whispered.

His voice was even the same as Nezumi remembered. He’d remembered every single detail of Shion’s face perfectly. The notion both impressed and disgusted him.

Shion’s small hands stretched out shakingly towards one of the wilted blossoms. He gently cupped one of the buds in his palms and lifted it up. His movements were so gentle, Nezumi would have easily thought he was cradling an infant.

“Who would do this?” Shion whispered. His voice trembled, and when Nezumi craned his neck, he noticed a few tears gathering in the corners of Shion’s eyes.

He hadn’t been this close to him the last time he’d been on the Surface. From this distance, he could see the alternating shades of brown in his hair, and the flecks of gold that painted his irises. The scents of so many flowers permeated the air in the garden, but Nezumi thought that the smell of asters seemed to grow as Shion stood in front of him.

He didn’t realize that he’d moved until one of the small branches of the hedge he’d hidden behind fell with a loud crunch.

Nezumi bit back a curse.

Shion’s gaze snapped immediately to the sound. “Is someone there?”

Nezumi’s entire body went rigid.

Shion’s gaze lingered on the hedge, his brow furrowed with confusion. The hands cradling the dead bud gently guided it back onto the ground.

_No_ , Nezumi thought, and dread filled his stomach like an icy liquid when Shion took a step towards the hedge. _Don’t come over here_.

“Hello?”

_Don’t_ …

Shion reached his hand out, and another few steps he would see Nezumi sitting behind the hedge. It was too late to try and slip away.

A loud crash echoed through the garden.

Shion’s head whipped around towards the sound, a startled little yelp escaping his throat. Nezumi willed all of his strength into his shadowy magic and, without a look back to see if Shion had spotted him, took off back in the direction he’d come from.

He kept his body crouched low to the ground, darting back towards the archway that led towards the council meeting room.

Slipping from the garden, Nezumi bolted down the hall, trying to remember which way his father had taken him. His feet carried him faster than he could ever remember going, and it wasn’t difficult to know where he was going.

He just had to follow the screaming.

Rounding the corner into the council meeting room, Nezumi was greeted with the source of all the commotion: Yoming lay sprawled in the middle of the council meeting room, and the Nightmare King sat astride his lap, hands curved into claws and clamped tightly around the flesh beneath his throat. Chairs lay scattered on their sides, as if Nezumi’s father had sprung across the table and tackled Yoming to the ground.

Beneath his father’s hands, Nezumi caught sight of thin wisps of vile magic. His thumbs pressed firmly against the round ball directly beneath Yoming’s chin. Tiny serpents of darkness wound their way across Yoming’s exposed throat and, everywhere that the magic licked, his flesh wrinkled and turned gray.

Beads of dark sweat formed on Yoming’s forehead, teeth grit in pain. His hands latched firmly onto the Nightmare King’s wrists, muscles strained as he tried to throw him off. But Nezumi’s father was stronger—his face twisted into a cross between a deranged sneer and a malevolent smirk.

The gods and goddesses had all hopped to their feet. Some were standing with their hands over their mouths, while others had taken a few large strides forward. They twitched as if they all wanted to dart forward and help, but their gazes locked on the rotting flesh beneath the Nightmare King’s hands. No doubt they pictured what it would do to _them_ if they touched it.

The Elder’s expression burned with a mixture of fury and terror. “Stop it,” he demanded, placing all his strength into his shouts. “Izumi, stop it!”

Yoming gagged, his hands trembling.

The Nightmare King’s smile grew.

“ _Izumi!_ ” the Elder bellowed.

Karan was being restrained by two of the goddesses. She struggled against their grip, shouting wordlessly at the scene of horror stretched out before her.

The decaying flesh had already spread across Yoming’s throat by this point, and it began to creep up the side of his face. He whimpered with weakened pain. Froth gathered at the corners of his lips, the life eking out of him.

“STOP IT!” the Elder boomed. His voice echoed around the room like the rumbling of an earthquake.

“ _Father!_ ” Nezumi shouted.

His little voice only managed to cause two gods to snap their gazes towards him. His father’s was one of them. He whipped his head around to stare directly into Nezumi’s face. The ferocity in his dark eyes sent bolts of terror shimmering through Nezumi’s body.

The god staring back at him looked more like a creature than his father.

And then in an instant, it was gone. His father’s expression shifted back to a more neutral gaze, as if realizing for the first time where exactly he was, and what exactly he was doing. He pulled his hands away from Yoming’s throat.

As soon as they vanished, Yoming’s clamped down on the gray, withered area. He drew in several deep breaths, quick and pleading for life.

The Nightmare King slowly extracted himself from Yoming’s lap, rose to his feet, and stretched his arms lazily over his head. His fingers cracked as he turned to look each god and goddess in the face before turning to address the Elder.

“Well, you weren’t wrong,” he purred. “That didn’t take long at all.”

The Elder’s lips pressed into a thin line. His scarlet eyes blazed.

The Nightmare King sauntered towards Nezumi, not noticing the way that a few gods scrambled to get as far away from him as the room would allow. “All right, everyone. It’s been a blast, but we really must get going. Lots to do down in the Underworld, you know.” He curled his fingers, drawing the magic back inside himself.

Nezumi stood completely still as his father came up alongside him. “Did you have a good time?” he asked, his voice high pitched and pleasant.

When Nezumi didn’t answer, his father turned in a sweeping motion back to the gaggle of gods. Two of them had flanked over towards Yoming, their hands pressing down on the gray flesh around his throat. Karan’s trembling hands clamped the hardest.

“Well, it’s been fun, everyone,” the Nightmare King called, “but I don’t think we’ll be doing it again.”

He turned to march out of the door—just as Shion came rushing into the room, his gentle voice calling out, “Mother?”

“ _Shion!_ ” Karan sounded like a wild animal.

Shion jerked to a halt, nearly colliding with Nezumi’s father. He gawked up at him, the color draining from his face.

Nezumi’s breath escaped in a dry huff. He imagined his father’s hands snapping out, dark magic burning. He had a terrifying image of Shion collapsing on the ground, the stricken flesh curling away into gray, his lips parting to release an agonized scream.

None of that happened. The Nightmare King’s back went straight as an arrow, and in the lowest voice Nezumi had ever heard his father use, he hissed, “ _Move aside_.”

Shion shuffled to the side.

Nezumi’s father stalked down the hall, not bothering to see if Nezumi had begun following him. Nezumi lingered in the council meeting room for only a moment, looking back at Shion. He continued to stare straight ahead, the color leaked from his cheeks. Karan had started to run towards him, and only when she was a few steps away did Nezumi take off after his father.

Finding his father wasn’t difficult. The Nightmare King wasn’t moving quickly, and even if he had been, the trail of blackened stones left in his wake would have been an easy giveaway.

Nezumi followed them, and within moments he was at his father’s side. His father refused to look at him or say anything. Nezumi knew better than to ask him what had happened to cause the fight—the feral insanity on his father’s face had said more than enough.

Nezumi found himself thinking back to Shion—but the lingering image of Shion’s exhausted smile had already been replaced by his pale face staring in horror up at the Nightmare King.

Nezumi swallowed his disappointment as he and his father disappeared through the portal and back into the Underworld.

That would be the last time Nezumi saw the inside of the council building.

**Author's Note:**

> Interested in some more awesome No.6 stuff and other random nonsense? Then come hang out with me on tumblr: **https://glorifiedscapegoat.tumblr.com/**


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